Saying Goodbye
by Unashamed1
Summary: Then maybe you should go...to say goodbye." Even the eternally un-changing need to close old doors once in a while--but Jesse Tuck might not agree.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, and I make no money from it. **

AN: Hello, everyone. I'm looking forward to increasing my presence here now that the school semester's ended. Reviews appreciated, as always. Details based on the film version.

Winnie wore her hair up now. She was sitting at the piano in front of the side window that looked out onto the lawn. It was so quiet out that he could almost hear the music through the glass. By the time he'd arrived, a silent orange-grey dusk was settling over the lawn and the woods beyond it. He had been surprised to learn that she still lived on the Foster estate—it had been willed to her, of course, when her father died, but he couldn't know that.

He stayed close enough to the house to see in the window, but, he hoped, far enough away to be well-covered in the shadow growing on the lawn. There was no high, wrought -iron fence anymore; it had been replaced with a much shorter version of itself. There were additions, as well--screens that looked like shadows of lace in the dim light gracefully filled the corner between the roof of the porch and the tops of its support beams. The front of the house had been painted dark-brown and white; perhaps _Jackson _was something of an artist. He shook the thought away, not wishing to hold onto the bitterness slowly rising from his stomach into his chest.

He walked a step or two closer, and could just make out shaky pencil drawings on the wall on the opposite side of the porch. Somewhere inside must be her children—how many? Three? Four? How old? He forced his eyes back over to the window and caught sight of _him_ and two little girls on the floor by Winnie's feet; the little ones, blond angles, ran from Jackson as he "chased," them around the room on his knees; he watched them laughing.

He turned his eyes back to Winnie and watched her study the sheet music in front of her. Her face was set and focused.

The wind kicked up, and Jesse shivered. She was here, just as she'd always been. He saw her smile, listening to the group on the floor behind her. She laughed as one of the little girls ran up behind her and grabbed the hem of her skirt; she pretended to scold through her laughter, glancing at her husband, sitting on the ground a few feet away. He was laughing too. She got up and stepped around the children, then knelt in front of Jackson to offer him a kiss.

Jesse turned away from the window and realized that the lawn was covered in shadow. The evening wouldn't wait for him to say what needed said, and, judging from what he had seen, Winnie would not hear it, either.

He stood for a moment in the cold, tasting it, letting it embrace him; this was where he had always belonged, anyhow; had belonged for a hundred and ten years—next September. The world was quiet this time of day; he had seen plenty of evenings, and was destined to see many more. He wished he hadn't spent six years hoping that Winnie would eventually be watching them with him.

To him, time was like water: it came, it passed, there was always more, flowing forever in the same direction, melting up into the clouds to come back down again, until all things finally stopped. He felt something twist in his stomach. He had been untouched by time for so long that he had forgotten that, for most, it is a dictator, not simply a warden. For most, it flows, it stops, and the moment in between goes much faster.

Jesse felt a deep chill and saw that the sky had almost gone dark. How long had he been standing there? An hour? A day? A moment? He extended one hand and felt the wind rush over it. Candles had been lit in the house; a fire was going. He only looked back for a split second.

()

Miles Tuck hadn't been through Tree Gap in almost ten years, so he suffered less anxiousness than usual as he walked the road that lead around the Fosters' woods. Without really meaning to, he slowed to a stop in front of the cottage that he was fairly sure still belonged to them. It was a little fancier now, and the fence was lower, but little else had changed. A slight smirk played at Miles' mouth as he admired the collection of pebbles that had always been there, watched a late summer breeze disturb Miss Winnie's dandelions. Most people found lack of change comforting; it made Miles uneasy. To the perpetually changeless, the knowledge that some things never stayed the same was oddly comforting.

His eyes found the two children sitting on the left side of the lawn under a tree. He stared too long, and the girl on the right looked up at him. He didn't have time to move on before she got up and bounced toward the fence. She glanced behind her and the other one got up slowly, following her companion to the fence at a much slower pace.

They were wearing white, and the one on the left had grass stains on her stockings that she didn't seem to mind much. The one with the grass stains was holding a dandelion with all of its seeds still attached. She smiled up at him until he smiled back.

"Good morning, sir." Her address was so proper and so innocent at the same time that Miles' smile widened and the tension in his shoulders began to relax. "Are you here to see our Uncle Charles?"

Miles looked back and forth between the girls before he answered. They were twins, apparently, or very close to it; both of them blond with dark blue eyes. The one with the dandelion had the darker hair and the more cheerful face; the other looked up at him with a quiet thoughtfulness he'd never seen on such a young face. She tugged delicately on the edges of her white-blond hair and looked at him. He had the thought that she may be shy of strangers and tipped his hat to her.

"Good morning, ladies," he bowed to the Dandelion girl after he saw the watery one smile shakily at him. "Please pardon my rudeness. I'm Miles."

"I'm Chastity Jackson" Dandelion girl answered promptly. She extended her hand and Miles kissed it. Chastity nodded in solemn approval, and then resumed her beaming. "And this is May." Miles kissed May's hand and she smiled before backing away a few feet. Before he could decide what to say next, he noticed a woman of about 25 descending the porch steps with purpose.

"Girls!" the word was almost a bark. Chastity and Mae jumped and turned around. She was a little older and stood a little taller, and her hair was up, but Miles knew her almost instantly. He stared with a somewhat blank expression as she approached them. "How many times have I told you not to talk to everyone that passes?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am." Miles tipped his hat to Winnie Foster. "Your girls and I were just having a little chat. I didn't mean you or your property any harm."

"Well, I'm sure you didn't." Winnie looked him in the eye, and he thought he saw a flash of something; she re-configured her face so quickly, he wondered if he'd imagined it. "But they need to learn. Oh, and these aren't my daughters—they're my husband's brother's girls." He wondered why she would volunteer that, until he looked her in the eye again and saw something hard and pleading. Suddenly, for reasons he wasn't sure he understood, he felt sick. Backing away from them and bowing slightly, he answered, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Well, I'd best be going. Nice to meet you, ladies." He answered, bowing to the three of them. He fixed his eyes on the children again, and the unsettled feeling in his stomach abated slightly. "Miss Chastity, Miss May, you listen to your aunt, now; no more talking to strangers." Winnie offered him a polite nod as he turned to go. He felt his throat slowly tighten even as the air became sweeter on his progress away from town.

()

Jesse Tuck refused to look at his brother. He watched the shadows from the fireplace dance on the opposite wall and shifted on his crate. He gripped the cloth in his hand a little tighter and rubbed hard on the blackened glass of a kerosene lamp as Miles' voice continued to explain from behind him.

"She said they were her husband's family." Miles was almost pleading. It had been a long time since Jesse had heard that tone from him.

"Are you sure it was her?" He started rubbing the glass of the lamp in a rhythmic circle.

"It was the old Foster property."

"The Fosters left; they probably sold that place."

"Jesse, they still own those woods, don't they? Can't see the family ever giving that up, or living too far away from it, either. What if someone had the audacity to come in and steal one of their twigs?"

Jesse chuckled before he remembered what Miles was telling him. Miles saw his shoulders relax, and then slowly tense again. "Besides," he continued, "I think I remember what she looks like well enough, Jesse." There was a brief pause before he answered.

"You're over 120; you're memory has got to have dimmed by now."

Miles laughed and the tension lifted slightly. Jesse was still smiling when Miles answered.

"I think maybe we should leave."

Jesse turned on his crate to face Miles, the lamp in his hands forgotten.

"Not yet."

"What?" Miles' eyebrows furrowed as he studied his younger brother. Jesse looked him in the eye for a full minute to be sure he had his attention before he spoke.

"I've been waiting ten years to get back here and find Winnie, and I'm not leaving here without at least seeing for myself if what you're telling me is true."

Miles felt as though Jesse was forcibly holding his eyes.

"You don't believe me?"

"I do-mostly." Jesse searched his brother's face. He could feel something inside of him slowly tearing, and he half-wondered who was doing it—Winnie or Miles. Then, the sweet, gentle smile of his sister-in-law rose to the front of his mind; a quiet whisper from a past that he spent most of his time pretending he'd forgotten. Suddenly, this ridiculousness made sense.

"You just don't want me to have what you lost."

Miles almost swayed on his feet. His face was hard and his lips slightly pursed. For a moment, Jesse was sure that Miles was going to hit him. The two of them stared at each other in silence before Miles finally answered.

"Then maybe you should go."

The anger in Jesse's eyes was interrupted by confusion.

"To say good buy." Miles explained. "To let it go. It's been more than long enough—and it might be good for you."

()

Jesse took a breath and smelt the beginnings of Jasmine opening. Turning around, he noticed that Winnie was back at the piano, admiring the keys; in the candlelight he could see her smiling. Jackson walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, smiled, let him kiss her. Jesse pretended that he had run out of light to see by and turned away from the window, back toward the road. His brother would be glad that he'd finally closed this door. He could hear Miles congratulating him on cutting the ties that had keep him distracted for far too long.

Jesse walked slowly, leaving the Jackson property behind him in degrees. He would listen to Miles, nod, smile, and start doing something he hadn't done since he had turned seventeen—pay attention to the calendar. For most, time was a dictator that had a way of distorting memories—but he knew that Winnie hadn't forgotten.

He would leave things alone for now. This was, perhaps, nothing more than a game of time. Jesse Tuck knew without a doubt that, in this at least, he would have the advantage. Charles Jackson would not live forever. He reached the fence and began to consider how to climb back over when another realization forced its way to the front of his mind. But then— he remembered with a jolt--neither would Winnie Foster.


End file.
